Jacob Mitchell (1854-1868)
Jacob died in September, 1868, at the age of 14 years and is buried at Cambusnethan beside his parents and his older brother, George.
Dunskey, July 9, 1868 Dear Father and Mother, I received your letter and was happy to hear that you were all well. I am just about the same way as I was the last letter I wrote you. Little William is just away to school the now. Send one word if you got any word from New Zealand this mail.
I believe you could not get a wee ponny at the Shotts fair William McConvell you may haud your tongue now about drapping woman when the tinker's wife took the hat off your head and swore it was her man's. If I had been you I would have draped her to the ground with one blow. I believe you would have draped her only you did not like to hurt her as she was a tinker's wife. William, send me word if your Father and Mother are any better at Chapelhaw and how the woman is that takes her stake and glass when the man goes out. And Father, you can send me a newspaper the next time till I see the news and it will keep me from wearying. Tell Charles that I would not be a bit the worse of yon that I lent him but the better of it, and he can send it and far more than it if he likes and I will not cast out with it but be very thankful of it, mind.
Andrew, Catie and the family are all well. No more at present but remain your son Jacob Mitchell. Write soon, mind, be sure and don't forget. My address is Mr. Jacob Mitchell, Care of Mr. A. Fergusson Game Keeper Dunskey, Portpatrick, Wigtownshire.
Dunskey, July 11, 1868 Dear Father and Mother, I received your letter last night and was sorry to hear that William made you so unhappy but he has been dreaming a big lot of lies for I am as strong and well as I was afore. I am a little better and tell William if I was at his ear I would dream him right enough.
Did you see in the Hamilton Advertizer about the horse living 27 days without meat? And Janet Wilson has a wee wane to a blacksmith in Newmains. He should get a good thrashing for meddling with the dacent woman. Catie says you are to make it into a polka.
You will get a letter before you get this one. No more at present but remain your son. Jacob Mitchell. Write soon.
Dunskey, July 28, 1868 Dear Father and Mother, I received your letter and was happy to hear that you was all well, as this leaves me a little better. I went down to the sea and I took off my boots and waded in a little way and I begun to get dizzy and I took and washed my face and arms. It takes a good many of you to kill a rat now be when I was there. It is a pitty of (helps knose) poor fellow.
William, this will be your examination day. You will just be going home now and you say that you was at Airdrie races with William McConvile and his friends and you saw John Thorrat. Tell Janet Wilson that I was spearing for her and was sorry to hear about her Father's hand. Was Charles at Glasgow Fair on the banks of Clyde?
There is not half enough stir here for me at all. I nearly throw all the meat I take and I sometimes finds a weakness at my heart till I can't speak and I have always pains in my lisks yet, and I think if you would send me some money to get some steak and some wine to take when I turn weak. It is far too quiet for me here and there is nobody here but Catie and they 3 young wanes, for Andrew is always away either at the big house or out shooting halks for they are very destructive beasts.
Don't be long in writing me for I weary if I don't get a letter. I have not got a letter from George this long while. No more at present but remain your son, Jacob Mitchell.
July 31, 1868 Dear Father and Mother, I received your letter and was sorry to hear about Mother's leg but I hope it will soon get better. I have just been middling this two or three days. William Ferguson is come here to stop for his health. He has been ill this three years and he has been at ten Doctors now and he says he has paid for Doctors £120.
The shooting begins on the 12 of next month. I received little William's stamps and is very thankful to him for them. I have throwed up my meat, and when I am throwing a pain comes in my lisk and it is very sore.
The gentleman here is a very queer sort of a man for one dare not go out any length for fear of meeting him for he would tarn them. It is a fine bar for to please a nowell body for to say that they sheep was his till you got him away and then take and kill them and keep the price of them. It is not a bad one. It is enough to be put in the papers. I am sure you were not feart I could not do the like of it for fear of the owner putting me in prison. All nonsense.
I got a letter from Brother George and they...I know nothing more for to say. I think sometimes I would like to be home when I am wearying. I got your paper. I hope mother's leg will be better when you get this. No more at present but remain your son. Jacob Mitchell. Be sure and spell Ferguson right. Write soon and don't have me wearying.
Undated (last page only) I am a good deal better. The Doctor says my lungs is a deal better and clearer. I had fresh herrings to my breakfast, prates scone and ham and tea and sugar and a wee bit butter and a loaf and cake. The tailor is here making Andrew a pair of trousers. Jacob Mitchell.
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2000-05-09